


Wolf in King's Clothing

by rthstewart



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Gen, Magic, Multi, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-03 19:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20458136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rthstewart/pseuds/rthstewart
Summary: Doctor Lucy Pevensie and Edmund Pevensie, Mage in His Majesty's Coven Corps, have a Were problem and a possible solution.  The Were Ministry's elite Hunters, Sir Peter Wolfsbane and Dame Susan Bow-arm, also have a solution to the Were problem.  Unfortunately, all those solutions may be fatal to Caspian of Narnia.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hydrangea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangea/gifts).

A huge thanks to WingedFlight for the beta.

* * *

Lucy swirled the reagent in the vial, keeping an eye on the enormous countdown clock on the wall, only to have a blast of steam from a burbling concentrate on the Bunsen burner fog up everything with a glass face.

_I'll have to do this the old-fashioned way._

She blew damp hair out of her face, tried to clear misting goggles by rubbing them on her shoulder, and kept swirling the flask, counter-clockwise, always counter-clockwise. Clockwise would mean (another) explosion and she'd only just cleaned up the last one. The solution within was just beginning to colour from pink, darkening to rose to hopefully red. In another 30 seconds the heavier elixir she sought should precipitate out and settle at the bottom.

_27 26 25_

A whistle tore through her concentration…

_Blast._

"Edmund!"

She kept swirling the flask. Had she lost count?

_21 20 19_

The damned whistle, _again_. Where was her infernal brother? With his head in the clouds, _again_?

"EDMUND!"

The whistling increased in intensity, insistence, and volume. It was going from tea kettle to air raid siren.

_15 14 13_

"EDMUND! You scrying glass is going off! GET YOU ARSE IN HERE!"

"I'm coming!"

It was too late.

"Damn it!" In those moments of distraction, the solution had gone from red to black and the chemical reaction that should have synthesized fire-flower elixir had turned to sludge.

"Sorry, Lu! I'm here!"

Edmund shoved the heavy, sliding wooden door open and hurried into the lab, rubbing his eyes. He looked so bleary he had surely been deep in a meditative trance – head in the clouds was never wholly metaphorical with her mage brother. He waved his arms about and the shrieking subsided back to mere tea kettle intensity. "Alright, alright, I'm coming you beastly nag."

He was scolding the glass, not her.

"I've half a mind to dump this into your scrying glass," Lucy grumbled, joining him at the basin.

"Hush now, or she'll hear you." Edmund passed his hands across the steaming water and murmured a few words. The waters stilled.

Lucy peered in with him. "It seems foggier than usual."

"You're still wearing your goggles, Lu."

_Right then._

Lucy shoved them up on the top of her head, feeling the buckles catch on and snag her wispy blonde hair. Susan would surely scold her for poor laboratory hygiene.

It was always hard to tell when the water she was looking in was actually water she was looking at. Scrying was Edmund's province, not hers.

"There," Edmund said, pointing. "Whoever it is the glass is alerting us to, they've appeared at the Highgate Ponds."

Given that the full moon was rising tomorrow night, whatever the scrying glass was concerned about was surely urgent. And likely dangerous.

"Do you want me to go?"

"It's my turn," Edmund replied heavily.

Which left her to deal with Peter and Susan this time.

Her brother knew the direction of her thoughts. "Just keep them away from Hampstead Heath for as long as you can. Just in case."

"So you don't know?"

Edmund shook his head and shucked off his robes. "It's too tangled to see clearly." 

Lucy handed him his favorite duster coat from the rack. He freed the tangled hair from the goggles askew on her head and brushed her cheek with his finger. "I _am_ sorry about the fire-flower potion. I do sense we'll likely need all you can brew this week."

"It's going to be bad?"

Edmund's eyes went briefly vacant as her brother again searched the ley lines that ran into the laboratory and out again, across the length and breadth of Britain. "Complicated, if I read the signs correctly."

"You always do, Edmund." Her brother was the only one who ever doubted his Sight. As he pulled on his goggles, Lucy handed him a pair of thick gloves. "Take the air bike. And …" She turned back to her workbench and pulled a drawer open. "Here."

"You got the Farnsworth working again! Brilliant!"

Being able to communicate across town was hugely helpful for their work. Just as Edmund tapped into the ley lines criss-crossing London for his magick and scrying, she had used them to create an instantaneous telegraph between two devices that were small enough to fit in a pocket. She'd had to undertake repairs after Remus, a very nice man she hadn't been able to treat in time, turned full Were, tried to eat her, and gotten a fatal shock when he bit into a Farnsworth instead.

Lucy crossed over the lab to the bookcase on the far wall, pulled _Gadow's Advanced Potions_ to the right, pushed the _Animalia and Botanica of Britain_ to the left, and pressed the button hidden in a fake _Rights For Weres_ _in a Modern Society_ – Peter and Susan weren't bookish and certainly would never open anything involving Were rights. The wall turned on a well-oiled pivot and a gust of fresh, cool air from the passageway wafted through the room.

"Go," Lucy gestured. "They'll be here any moment and you need to be gone."

Edmund nodded and ducked into the passageway. "Signal me once it's safe to return."

They didn't want to risk him sending a message on the Farnsworth with Peter or Susan standing right over her.

His duster billowing behind him, Edmund jogged away down the passage to their private garage.

Just as she closed the bookcase and shoved the books back in their appropriate places, the scrying glass burbled like a fountain and then began humming. So, maybe some hard feelings but not so bitter that she wouldn't warn that Peter and Susan had acknowledged receipt of the earlier alarm. They'd come over from the house soon, once they had donned their hunting gear.

"Thanks, Luv. And I'd never dump burnt up potions in you."

Lucy binned the sludge, flask and all, and returned to her bench, pulling her goggles back down. Opening the linen sack on the counter, she began carefully measuring out dried fire-flowers on her balance. The Crown always made sure she had plenty of raw ingredients for brewing the vital potion; it was just a damned tricky elixir to synthesize and there weren't many in London who could do it.

She lost herself so thoroughly in her work, humming along with the glass, and grinding the flowers that Peter and Susan were in the lab before she noticed the clanking sounds of sword, knives, and quiver against brass buckles and mail shirts. The scent followed; Peter and Susan always reeked of death to her.

"Good girl," she whispered to the scrying glass.

"Lucy," Peter began but she cut him off.

"A moment, please," and continued to carefully and intently grind the fire-flowers with her pestle. Her brother and sister knew interrupting certain processes in her potion-making had catastrophic consequences – though they didn't know that crushing fire-flowers wasn't one of them. The longer the head start Edmund had before Peter and Susan began searching London for their next quarry, the better.

"Lucy, you really should secure your hair," Susan said, predictably. "It is untidy and unsafe."

The moment before they would begin to fidget and ask awkward questions, Lucy set down her pestle and looked up. "Good morning!"

Peter leaned down and kissed the top of her head. She managed to not flinch at the close proximity to the Were-wolf pelt her eldest brother sported across his broad shoulders. "Good morning, sister. Is Edmund about? We heard the glass go off?"

"He was up early, catching sunrise for me for the fire-flower elixir," Lucy replied. "I couldn't make heads or tails of whatever the scrying glass was trying to tell us. Maybe a Were in Greenwich?"

Susan's metal hand landed gently on her shoulder; the kiss to her cheek was gentler still. "Thank you for your work, sister, as always. Though, if Edmund was up early, it seems you never went to bed."

"The full moon rises tomorrow; it's busy for us all." Lucy turned back to her mortar and pestle so she wouldn't see her sister's armband of Were-wolf teeth and her Were-hide vambraces.

Peter and Susan went over to inspect the scrying glass basin.

"Greenwich?" Susan said, sounding far too mystified. "I shouldn't think so. What do you think, Peter? There's definitely water. The Docklands, perhaps? Or Tower Bridge?"

Lucy looked up from her work and tried to not hold her breath as Peter rubbed his eye and squinted into the basin.

The glass would never lie, she couldn't, but neither would she make interpreting her easy. Sir Peter Wolfsbane, however, had never needed two eyes, or even the one that now remained to him, to find prey. "No, I think that's water amidst park land. Perhaps Regent's or Hyde Park."

"Or Battersea?" Lucy suggested.

The pause ran long and painfully.

"Possibly," Peter finally said. "Su, let's start south of the Thames and work our way north, through Hyde, Green, and St. James's, then Regent's and, if still no luck, up to Hampstead."

"Very well."

They turned away, jangling and creaking toward the door.

"You'll have our silver solution ready tonight?" Susan asked, adjusting her quiver to rest flatter across her back.

Before the full moon, every month, it was the same ordeal for their family. Sir Peter Wolfsbane bathed his sword, Rhindon, the Were-Foe of Londontown, in a bath of silver; Dame Susan Bow-arm dipped each arrow point in lethal argentum paste. Mage Edmund Pevensie traversed across Londontown, raising wards to protect and secure those not infected. That night, Wolfsbane and Bow-arm would roam the streets, hunting down and killing every Were they found. The next morning after, Doctor Lucy Pevensie would venture out to treat those bitten with fire-flower to prevent the cursed infection from taking hold. 

"As always, dear sister," Lucy said. "Good hunting to you both. The King protect you."

"And you, Lucy," Peter said.

"Close the door behind you?"

"Of course, Lucy. Try to get some rest if you can." Susan looped her metal fingers into the iron handle of the door to slide it shut. They'd had to amputate her sister's left arm at the elbow two years ago to prevent the spread of a rare Were-infection that hadn't responded to fire-flower. The strength of the metal replacement had made Dame Bow-arm even more lethal. With a gentle smile she added, "And do put on a coif, for your own safety."

"I shall consider both, Susan dearest," Lucy replied.

The heavy door sliding shut muted her brother and sister's merry laughs.

The scrying glass began burbling again, sounding very pleased with herself. Though she might have just been happy that Susan had looked in her.

"Thank you, Friend."

She finished two batches of the careful crushing of the fire-flowers into a fine, dry powder and mixed the first of the many solvents the elixir required before she deemed it safe to pull the Farnsworth from the drawer. Lucy listened carefully but surely Susan and Peter were well away, running as the tame wolves did, to Battersea.

"Luv? Are they about?" The scrying glass remained silent.

She pressed the button on the Farnsworth and waited.

"Lu?"

She could immediately hear the strain in his voice. "Edmund? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said quickly. "Is it safe to come in?"

"For the moment, yes. What's wrong?"

"We have a problem."

* * *

Lucy didn't know what to expect so she packed her medical bag, a bone saw, sutures, and the strongest fire-flower concentrate in her dispensary. Edmund didn't keep her waiting. He rolled down the hill and into their garage thirty minutes later. Rolling was the only forward movement the air bike was capable of, for the gauge on the pressure tank showed empty and the battery meter was in the red – Edmund had drained everything to get back so swiftly. There was a man in the sidecar, covered in a heavy cloak and hood, and wrapped in a scarf, with goggles holding it all in place. He did not seem to be in immediate medical distress and her dread increased further.

She lit the lamps, closed the garage doors, and Edmund dismounted, motioning the man riding next to him to climb out. He made an awkward business of it and Lucy finally had to help him with the buckles and fasteners of his safety harness, and then his outerwear. His goggles kept tangling in his black hair, longer and far silkier than Lucy's own.

He was heart-stoppingly handsome, as tall as Peter, more beautiful than Susan, kind, strong features, dark eyes, flawless, olive skin, and his hair much too long to be fashionable or even common. He was wearing a soft shirt and snug trousers in deep hues of blue and green that showed him off to tremendous advantage. She'd never seen casual clothing so richly colored, or close-fitted, in England.

It made her feel shy and tongue-tied, even a little girlish. Edmund snorted, seeing the whole thing (which was pretty rich as he was undoubtedly as attracted to the stranger as she was).

Lucy tentatively put out her hand. "I'm Doctor Lucy Pevensie. You are?"

He stared at her hand then uncertainly stretched out his own. "Caspian."

His hands were warm and dry, maybe, Lucy thought with a fearful thud, _too warm._ She glanced at Edmund and her brother nodded slightly.

Lucy shook his hand and then withdrew her own. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Caspian."

"I am Caspian. That is my name, of the House of Telmar."

"I am not familiar with that family."

Edmund kicked a stool over toward Caspian, "Sit." Lucy pulled up her own chair. Caspian carefully set the cloak down on the motor bike with a lingering look, and took the seat across from her, a little tentative, as if testing its weight.

_He's never seen any of this before. _

Edmund carelessly tossed his own duster over the bike's handlebars and snagged a chair with his boot, threw a leg over it and sat backwards. When Peter wasn't there to nag him about decorum, he always sat backwards in chairs, with his arms on their backrests. "First, Caspian, my apologies for hustling you here so unceremoniously and with nary an introduction." Edmund reached across the chair and offered his hand. Caspian was better at this second handshake. "I'm Edmund Pevensie, Mage in his Majesty's Coven Corps."

Edmund turned to her. "By the time I arrived at Hampstead, the account was widely circulating that he rose out of the Highgate bathing pond, fully dressed, completely dry, and politely asking for directions to Londontown."

He rubbed his hand over his face, pulled his gloves off, and dropped them next to his goggles on the floor. "The magick was running wild and the ley lines were doing such a vigorous foxtrot around him, they gave me a headache. Anyone with an eye in their head knew he wasn't from around here. Before he started a panic of another portal opening up to gods knows where and letting another plague in, I threw a glamour over both of us, a cloak over him, tossed him in the side car and started motoring around, waiting for your all clear."

Lucy folded her hands in her lap and leaned forward. "So, Caspian, of the House of Telmar, how did you come to be here, and why?"

"As your brother has surmised, Lady…"

"Doctor," Lucy put it. They needed to get off on the right foot here.

"My apologies." Caspian inclined his head, looking adorably contrite. "Where I am from, Doctor Pevensie, women do not hold such titles."

Before she could ask just what titles women could aspire to (and she suspected it was wife, mother, spinster, seamstress, governess, and sex worker), Edmund injected, "And where _are_ you from, Caspian?"

"As you ascertained, Mage, I came here by magick, from the land of Narnia."

Lucy sucked in a startled breath. "Cornelius!"

Edmund rocked so hard in his chair, he nearly tipped over.

"Doctor Cornelius now and he sends his regards to you both. He is my physician and valued advisor, but alas, no magician for, as you may recall, magicks remain little more than myth and parlor tricks in Narnia. He sent me to find you and it was indeed fortunate that this unfolded as it did. I had doubted it, but the Doctor had thought, by your own devices, you would identify me swiftly."

"The Rings? He promised us he would never use them again. The risks to Narnia…"

"Just so. It has been, in Narnia, some 40 years since he was here." Caspian looked at her closely and with, what Lucy thought, was curiosity that might be nudged to admiration. She was very glad it had not been 40 years _here. _

"It's been barely three years," Lucy said, returning his warm look with a smile of her own. "Time runs differently between England and Narnia." Caspian was within a few years of her own 30.

Edmund cleared his throat. Lucy thought he was a little jealous; her brother had not gotten such an admiring look… yet. "Cornelius was an excellent student," Edmund put in.

"So, Doctor and Mage, Doctor Cornelius deemed the matter so dire, he broke his solemn vow to you, unearthed the Rings, and taught me their ways so that I might find you. He believes that the problem that arose in Narnia has its origins here. The solution, if there is one, he thinks is also to be found here."

"And that dire situation is?" Lucy asked, though she thought she already knew.

"I am the rightful heir to the throne of Narnia and embroiled in a Civil War with my uncle who claims it as his own. He has my country in a terrible and tyrannical grip. By some rare and perilous dark art, he smuggled an agent into my camp. There was a fight, I killed the spy, but…"

Caspian paused and then rolled up his sleeve, exposing a very well-muscled arm and a very familiar-looking and savage scar.

"You were bitten," Edmund said.

"And am now a Were-Wolf."

"And you need my cure."

* * *

One of Edmund's Irregulars brought them back food from Chinatown. It was Edmund's idea of either humour or foreplay so he could then show Caspian how to use chopsticks and feed him bits of juicy chicken and slippery noodles. He'd also helped Caspian find some very dull brown trousers, boots, vest and duster so that he wasn't so obviously from somewhere on the other side of a portal that had magically opened up on Hampstead Heath. The disguise did not fit Caspian nearly so well, though he looked marvelous in the open-necked shirt and boots. Her brother was very devious. It was also very frustrating because Edmund was much better at flirting than she was, and usually more successful at it.

In the meantime, she'd inventoried her ingredients in the laboratory and dispensary, readied herself for an argument with Edmund, and returned to the garage.

"The good news," Lucy explained to Caspian, "is that I _may_ be able to cure you."

"And the bad news?" He had given up on the attempt at chopsticks and was scooping the noodles up with his fingers. It was delectable.

"That is the only good news at the moment." Edmund was watching Caspian a mite too avidly and sounding flustered. Lucy kicked him gently with her toe of her boot. _Stop getting distracted, you child._ He probably heard her silent reprimand and certainly understood her intent.

Edmund became very occupied with a study of his dumplings and murmured, "Attempting the cure is illegal…"

"Illegal!" Caspian echoed. "My sincere apologies. I had no idea I was endangering you. Allow me to…"

Edmund waved at Caspian impatiently, nearly sending a dumpling flying across the garage. "Oh do sit down. None of those theatrics, please."

"Yes, we are violating English law, but this is what we do, Caspian." Lucy gently tugged on his sleeve to bring him back down. "The illegality is based upon sound public health protections. The cure is poisonous if not handled properly or administered correctly and requires scarce, expensive resources to make…"

"Like my sister's potion-making skills," Edmund put in, retrieving his dumpling from his lap.

She nodded, acknowledging the point. "Just so. Very few in Londontown are capable of concocting it safely and I did invent it."

Between mouthfuls, Edmund added, "And the Crown is not _wholly_ wrong in prioritizing treatment of the newly bitten to prevent the Were-plague from taking hold even more than it has."

It still hurt terribly for Lucy wanted to save them all. "If we don't reach the bitten in time, or they are too afraid or ashamed to come forward, once the patient undergoes a transformation, the cure is the only option and the Crown does not wish us to waste time on what is often a futile and, for most potion-makers and patients, a very dangerous endeavor."

"To discourage attempts at the cure, the key ingredient is highly restricted and its purchase is reported to the Crown Prosecutor for investigation…"

"Or to a Were-Hunter, which includes our brother and sister, by the way."

Caspian looked nervously between the two of them, food forgotten.

"Yes, about that. It's another complication." Edmund set aside his plate. "Our brother, Sir Peter Wolfsbane, and sister, Dame Susan Bow-arm, hold royal licenses as Were-Hunters."

"Our brother and sister are as skilled at killing as Edmund and I are at saving. If you are finished, Caspian?"

He nodded.

Her chair scraped loudly over the wooden floor of the garage as she drew closer to him and opened her medical bag. "May I? I shan't be too invasive but we need to ascertain how advanced the infection is which will then tell us our probability of a successful cure."

_Or if the cure is pointless because you are so advanced it would only kill you, and in such agony, we might as well have Susan and Peter kill you now and spare us all that horror._

Caspian looked at her bag warily but nodded again.

She pulled out her stethoscope and checked his heart, mostly able to ignore the way the cold metal pressed against his too warm skin. A thermometer confirmed that his body temperature was higher than normal. Taking his wrist, she felt his pulse jump a little under her fingertips.

"Both your pulse and heart rate are lower than normal." She had seen better, and worse, in Were-patients.

Holding up a candle to his eyes – they were a lovely shade of brown – "Can you still see red and green colours? "

"I'm not sure. There doesn't seem to be much colour here."

"We're a drab lot," Edmund put in. "All leathers, brass, buckles, and burning coal and boiling water to turn machinery and charge batteries."

"But beautiful all the same," Caspian replied, out of politeness. Probably. From Caspian's amused _huff,_ Edmund had surely winked at him. _Flirt._

She moved the candle back and forth, watching as his eyes flickered. "You don't have a third eyelid yet."

"I… what?"

"It's something we see in dogs, wolves, and Were-canines, a third eyelid that humans don't have." Edmund could sound _so_ soothing. "That it has not yet formed is good, as it is one marker in the end-stage of the disease."

She returned her stethoscope to the bag. "Have you found your night vision or sense of smell have changed?"

"Yes. Especially right before and after." He looked about a little nervously and wrinkled his nose in the direction of the Chinatown foods.

"So it is a good thing I bathed this morning?" Lucy said, trying to lighten the serious mood.

"And me as well!" Edmund cried and she and Caspian both rolled their eyes at him. Caspian's whites still looked normal.

She slipped the rings from her pocket onto her fingers and held out her hands to Caspian. "Take mine. Edmund, if you would?"

Caspian, a little tentatively, reached out and grasped her hands. It started well but she could see in his face the uncertainty when it began to feel uncomfortable.

"It is beginning to burn?"

He nodded. Lucy wriggled her fingers and Caspian flinched.

She withdrew her hands from his, slipped off the rings, and then gently turned his palms over. They were red and two blisters were starting to appear.

"Almost three minutes," Edmund said, sounding cheerful enough that Caspian glanced at him.

"I put on silver rings. Silver is poisonous to Weres; in early stages of the disease it causes irritation and swelling. Eventually, it is lethal. I put on silver rings to measure your sensitivity and you tolerated them fairly well. Now, last, could you please push up your sleeve again? I would like to examine the bite."

She was again treated to Caspian's nice forearms and upper arm. The scar was very large; It had been a fearsome injury but was not festering.

Edmund leaned over to also examine the bite but he was very professional now. "Three moonrises?"

"Looks more like two," Lucy countered.

"Yes," Caspian replied. "I've transformed twice so far."

_So._

"Caspian, in my judgment the infection has advanced fairly predictably. If you agree to undertake the cure I prepare, I believe there is a good probability of success. There are risks, serious ones. The Were-Cure could kill you."

Caspian frowned and shifted uncomfortably. "What happens if I decline the Cure?"

"Regrettably, the alternatives are equally grim. With each successive transformation, the possibility of a successful cure drops markedly. By five transformations, you are a full Were, changing every month, with an increasing probability of it becoming permanent. I don't know what would happen to you in Narnia, but I suspect it would ultimately be the same as what happens here."

"What is that?"

"You die, in a fight with another Were, you kill yourself accidentally whilst in a Were-rage, or you are killed by a Were-Hunter."

"Like your brother and sister?"

Lucy nodded and Edmund put a hand on Caspian's shoulder. "Don't worry. Lucy and I won't let that happen."

Caspian covered Edmund's hand with his but then reached over and clasped her own.

"Thank you, both. I will undertake this cure as swiftly as possible. I cannot reclaim Narnia, nor rule when I am like this – something my Uncle surely intended when he set the Were-wolf upon me."

"There are some ingredients we must obtain. And then I will need several hours tomorrow to brew the potion. Then, we give it to you, lock you up tomorrow night, wait for the moon rise, and see if it takes." _Or you die._ "I'm sorry that that sounds so brutal, but there really isn't any other way. If we let you loose..."

"I would not wish to harm my saviors, nor anyone else. Doctor Cornelius has undertaken similar precautions for my last two transformations."

"And we must keep you as far away as possible from our brother and sister, and every other Were-hunter."

"They already know something is up, Ed. Peter could see it in the glass."

"I know." She could see Edmund pull in on himself and his eyes became vacant and a little misty. "And yet they must be able to do their duty on the full moon, and, we must do likewise." He sighed, wearily. There was a lot of magicking for him the next two days and it would be draining to the point of debilitation. "What do you need, Lu, to make the cure?"

"I can harvest Valerian root by moonlight tonight. I have plenty in the garden. But I'll need to purchase dittany and powdered moonstone. And get the aconite, of course."

"Lu…" Edmund took on a warning tone.

"I know," she said sharply and pulled away from them both. She hated this. "But there's nothing for it."

"What?" Caspian asked, rolling his shirtsleeve back down.

"My sister is proposing something very dangerous."

"It's more dangerous if I don't have the right ingredients."

"But from Tumnus? Lucy, you know what he is."

"Tumnus?" Caspian injected into their burgeoning, and very old, argument.

"An apothecary, with the superior supply of drugs and pure potion ingredients in all of Londontown." _My friend. My advisor. Once. Perhaps still._

"Which is so very superior to all other suppliers because he is an informant and spy," Edmund countered. His anger at Tumnus had not abated, and probably never would. Edmund blamed Tumnus for his indenture into the Mage Corps, serving at His Majesty's pleasure – an honour and burden, with attendant scrutiny, her brother had never wanted.

"Edmund, Tumnus is the only one I trust for this. "

"Trust his ingredients if you must, but not him. And he won't sell you aconite."

"Of course not, Edmund. We'll have to steal that."

* * *

Mr. Tumnus put a monocle to his eye and bent his head over the list she'd set on the pharmacy counter. His hair was so curly and wild, it always looked as if he'd sprouted horns on his head. Coupled with the long beaver-skin fur coats and hides he favored, Mr. Tumnus also gave off a peculiarly animalistic air for someone who was such an exacting apothecary.

He traced her shopping list with a long, impeccably clean fingernail. _Fire-flower,_ _argentum,_ a_tropine, lacewing, dittany, poppy, coca leaves, hammelis, mandrake, willow bark, thyme._ She had made a point of burying the dittany amidst other ingredients it was frequently mixed with for commonly-prescribed infection remedies and pain relief. That it was also an essential ingredient in the Were-Cure might pass unnoticed. _Hopefully._

"Still more fire-flowers, Doctor Pevensie? You purchased 2 kilos only last week."

"Oh, the scrying glass unexpectedly went off this morning and I burnt a whole batch," Lucy said with a laugh. "Susan scolded me dreadfully for the waste." Slightly more pointedly, she added, "And Edmund foresees a complex aftermath to the full moon tomorrow. I want to be prepared."

"You know where these all are, Doctor. Help yourself." He waved at the back wall where the bins were.

"Any problems with the coca and poppy?"

"For you, not at all. I'm happy to be of service. But I will measure out the atropine for you." Atropine was derived from belladonna and could be very toxic, so Mr. Tumnus synthesized it himself and was particular about who could have it and how much. "How much do you require?"

"A few drams. I'm making an eye drop for a patient."

The aconite was behind the counter, in a glass cabinet. She tried to not stare at it. It was known as Wolfsbane in the old languages and formularies. Unlike dittany, there were few legitimate uses for aconite apart from poisoning a human and her Were-cure. A potion-maker could purchase it but had to account for it to the supplier and usually suffered through a visit from a Royal Were-Hunter or someone in the Prosecutor's office.

Lucy began filling little linen bags with each of the ingredients, mentally rehearsing. When she got to _M,_ "I've not used mandrake much before, Mr. Tumnus, but I have a patient who is trying to conceive. My Pharmacopeia suggested it as a possible remedy. Do you have any other recommendations?"

"Powdered moonstone," Mr. Tumnus replied after what was either an uncomfortably long pause or her overactive imagination.

"Thank you! Yes, that's an excellent idea."

"I am surprised your Pharmacopeia did not mention it."

_Do I say anything more? Is that giving it away? Or would he remark if I didn't say the obvious?_

Lucy tried for a middle ground. "I confess I do tend to forget that moonstone has many applications apart from being in my Were-Cure."

"Indeed, Doctor Pevensie. As you are already purchasing dittany and argentum, will you be needing aconite as well?" His laugh sounded harsh and unnatural.

When had their friendship turned so sour? When she had refused to take his advice on commercializing the Cure? When she had patented the invention to keep the Crown from taking it? When she had published the article describing how other potion-makers could compound the Cure and announced she would never enforce her rights to prevent them from doing so? Why did he act so hurt and distrusting?

_Maybe because I'm lying to him._

She laughed in return, and brought her basket with the little bags to his counter for weighing. "Of course not, Mr. Tumnus! Can you imagine Peter and Susan's reaction?!"

"A betrayal," Mr. Tumnus answered, with a smile that did not reach his eyes. He weighed each bag, recording her purchases and their cost in his ledger.

She didn't flinch when he wrote _Dittany_ and followed it with _Powdered Moonstone_ in the ledger under her name and the date.

She fished out her wallet to pay, as calmly as she could manage. The crowns she set on the counter bore the profile of Sir Peter Wolfsbane – the left side, so he had an eye, rather than the patch. Silhouettes and portraits of her brother with the scar across his face and patch over his right eye were very popular in souvenir shops and Peter got a tuppence royalty for the use of his likeness. "Please make sure to break out both the fire-flowers and argentum powder on the receipt, Mr. Tumnus. The Were Ministry is reimbursing us for the costs of treating Peter and Susan's weapons and for the fire-flower elixir now."

"Of course."

Tumnus slowly counted out her payment and Lucy willed herself to not fidget or stare at the aconite taunting her in the case behind him.

If Edmund had been there, he could have cast a confounding charm and in the ensuing confusion, she could have taken the aconite right then. But if Edmund had been with her, there also would have been yelling, cursing, and possible curses flying between her brother and Mr. Tumnus.

"A good likeness of your brother," Mr. Tumnus said, jolting her to attention. He was holding up one of the crowns and studying it. "Though I think the 5-pound note with your sister is better."

_Is he asking for a bribe? _

"I think they would agree, Mr. Tumnus! Thank you!"

"It's always a pleasure doing business with your family. Do let me know if I can be of further service to you, or your eldest brother or sister."

_What is he offering? Protection? For what? Does he want a fiver?  
_

Before she could formulate some sort of ambiguous query about five and ten notes, Mr. Tumnus pushed her basket across the counter with the linen wrapped ingredients and her pence in change. "Good afternoon, Doctor Pevensie."

Lucy counted the coins and realized he'd over-charged by a full crown. She said nothing and smiled.

"And to you, Mr. Tumnus. If any of your customers require a physician after the moon, do send them to me. I will, of course, be happy to pay the accustomed referral fee. And more on top of that."

_Was that enough? People should not have to pay to keep from being turned into Weres. Gods, I hate this business._

"I shall do so, Doctor Pevensie."

The doorknob was slippery in her sweating hands. She was profoundly relieved to fumble her way outside and feel the shop door hit her firmly on the backside on the way out. The merry tinkling of the bell seemed obscene.

As she turned toward home, she knew Tumnus was watching her through the shop window. Lucy hefted her basket on her arm, and hurried down the street.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

"Edmund? Are you there?"

It was the third time Lucy had tried the Farnsworth and received no reply.

Edmund was probably off gallivanting with Caspian, maybe dinner and the theater, which made her far more envious than she should have been. Trying to pretend that everything was normal when it wasn't was very difficult. _Needs must_, as their mum would have said, and Edmund would have a lot to manage at the full moon tomorrow while she was tending to Caspian. That didn't make it easier now.

Lucy mixed up the argentum solution and paste for Peter and Susan, and compounded another two batches of fire-flower elixir – without burning them. In between the synthesizing and distillations, she made up fertility remedies with the mandrake and some of the powdered moonstone for her invented patient, just in case Tumnus proved to be the informant he was and not the friend he had once been. 

The scrying glass must have stewed on it and decided she _was_ peeved at her threat and Edmund's scolding from that morning because Lucy didn't even get a warning before Susan and Peter arrived. The Farnsworth was safely in the drawer and she hoped Edmund didn't suddenly decide to be communicative.

"Lucy, darling, have you been here _all_ day?!" Susan chided.

"No, I got out to Tumnus's shop," Lucy replied, sniffing the suddenly delicious air. "Peter, is that…?"

They laughed at her audibly grumbling stomach. "Curry from the supper you missed?" Peter teased. "Why yes, sister, it is."

Peter dished out food for her from the tins while Susan made tea on the Bunsen burner. The tea tasted too much of fuel, but she was touched that her sister was so exacting in assuring that it contained enough milk and sugar for her liking. Lucy focused on her food until they had finished treating Rhindon and Susan's arrows with silver. 

Lucy could ignore the Were-tooth band on Susan's arm when her sister rested her head on her shoulder and threaded her metal fingers with Lucy's own. "Thank you, so much, Lucy, for everything you are doing. We know it is hard for you and Edmund while Peter and I hunt."

Peter solemnly returned gleaming Rhindon to her sheath, reverently set the sword aside on a bench, and sat down on a stool across from her. "We can't stop them all," Peter said heavily. "There are too many. Without you and Edmund, and others, putting up the wards, protecting people, and trying to treat the bitten afterwards…"

He rubbed at his scarred eye socket under the patch and Lucy could see weariness etched in his every feature. 

"We're losing ground?" Lucy asked softly, stroking Susan's hair; the neat braid of this morning had long since unraveled. Her brother and sister were _so_ tired.

"We're not losing, but we aren't gaining either, and we should be," Susan said with a sigh.

"Today was hard?" Lucy asked.

Peter switched to massaging his good eye and ran a hand over his deeply lined face. "Just the usual. Another poor soul, more Were than human, who begged us to kill her before she infected her family."

Unspoken was that they had done so, granted the boon, and made a mercy kill. For some Were hunters, the prospect of collecting the King's bounty encouraged unsavory conduct and killings that were not at all merciful. Susan and Peter weren't like that but it took a heavy toll. It was much easier to kill a frothing, raving Were under a full moon than a poor human begging to be released from the cursed disease.

"Did you ever find what the scrying glass was trying to tell us this morning?"

"Half-dozen that it could have been." Susan's yawn split the last of her words into fragments.

"More than that, Su," Peter said with a grunt. "Thank you, Friend, all the same!" he called to the glass.

A contented little burble rose from the scrying glass. She was _so _fickle. And probably flirting with Susan.

Lucy shrugged her shoulder to dislodge Susan and nudged Peter's stool, else her brother and sister would fall asleep right there in the lab.

"You both are dead on your feet and you'll be up all night tomorrow. Go back to the house. Get some rest."

Susan and Peter were too weary to protest. They collected their weapons and reeled out. Lucy followed them, with a basket, gardening gloves, and trowel. "I have some harvesting to do."

"Shouldn't you come to bed, too?" Susan asked. "Surely it's too late for gardening!"

Fortunately, it was Peter who answered. "You dig up roots at night, right?"

"So you paid attention to my lessons!" Lucy gave them a gentle push, across the quiet street to their home on the other side. She hadn't realized it was so late; even the air ships were in for the night. And the night before a full moon was usually very quiet in Londontown as everyone mustered for the ordeal – checking and double-checking locks, bolts, bars, and cages, securing livestock, sharpening weapons, asking Mages to set wards.

There were some clouds but the nearly full moon reflected enough light to work by. She watched the house until the lights in Susan and Peter's bedrooms winked out. The whistles of the late night trains and boats on the Thames were reassuring, normal night sounds. Tomorrow, it would be howls and snarls.

She knelt in the garden and began to work. The plants were so well known to her, she didn't need to use the lantern to find the medicinal smelling goldenseal, the aromatic ginger and ginseng, and the earthy scented valerian root; the prickly burdock pierced her gloves as she dug.

It was so still, she could hear Edmund and Caspian laughing when they rounded the corner and turned onto their street. They quieted as they drew closer to the house. _It's fine. Really. I'm just sitting in the dirt, in the dark, digging up roots that might save his life._

_Or kill him._

She rose from behind the foxglove and _hypericum_ and dusted herself off. Caspian vaulted easily over the garden gate, landed lightly, and executed a lovely bow. Edmund tried to copy him and managed almost as neatly to clear the fence, but crushed a corner of her thyme bush.

"Sorry."

"Good evening, Doctor. Are you well?"

"Fine, yes. Just harvesting roots." A cloud of dust billowed around her as Lucy tried dusting the dirt off; Caspian coughed.

"So I see. Allow me to get that for you?" Caspian picked up her basket and Edmund beckoned, opening the door to the lab for them, and then shutting it firmly behind them.

"I tried contacting you." _Four times._ She couldn't keep the edge out of her voice but neither Caspian nor Edmund seemed to notice because they dove immediately into the leftover curry and rice. _Maybe they had been having too splendid of a time to eat … food._

"Sorry again, Lucy. Needs must," Edmund replied between prodigious spoonfuls. "I was setting wards tonight so that tomorrow I can just treat bites and keep Peter and Susan away from here while you're with Caspian." He pointed at the curry to Caspian. "It might be a little spicy for you."

_Oh, that's right. I am an idiot._

Lucy poured them both cold tea. "I can make a fresh pot…"

"Thank you but this is superior to anything I'd have at my camp." Caspian slurped down the dregs, set down his cup and took a small spoonful of the curry. "Edmund had me watching the apothecary, Mr. Tumnus, and he left the shop only an hour ago." With a shrug, he took a bite and then sucked in a startled breath.

Lucy quickly added more milk to his tea. "That will help. And eat more rice."

"It _is_ delicious. Like nothing I have ever had before. Your world is truly wondrous."

_But for the Weres._

"Did you see anyone official-looking go in to the shop?" Lucy asked. "Or anyone heavily armed?"

Caspian shook his head. "Edmund described what I should be alert for but they all seemed to be customers. He's very peculiar, though. Did you know Tumnus looks like a Faun?"

"A what?"

"A type of Narnian," Edmund said. "Lu, did Peter and Susan give you any problems this evening?"

"Not at all. They were lovely and made me feel thoroughly guilty."

"Su made you tea, didn't she, extra sugar and milk, just as you like it?"

"And we have Peter to thank for the curry supper. But apart from my guilt, everything is fine. They're in bed."

"Have you been able to get everything done?"

"Except for the aconite, I can begin brewing the Cure. I am relieved to hear there was nothing untoward with Tumnus. It was a very odd encounter. I think he was asking for a bribe."

Edmund's fatigued look sharpened. "He can be subtle about that. And when he inventories his supply of aconite and discovers it is short, he will certainly suspect you."

"Needs must. We have to try." Lucy tried to ignore the warmth Caspian's smile triggered at her bold statement. "Hopefully, by the time Tumnus discovers the shortage, the potion will be brewed, Caspian cured, and…" For all her courage, Lucy couldn't quite complete the thought. Hers were but silly, girlish fantasies and there were only two ways this could end -- Caspian would be dead, or he would leave. 

* * *

In stories, heists always seemed more exciting. A heist was never supposed to involve anything so mundane as making sure your get-away vehicle would actually get you away. Edmund couldn't magically direct a ley line to charge a battery or fill a pressure tank, so they had to re-pressurize the tanks and switch out batteries on the air bike. It _took forever._ They were all brimming with impatience when they finally set out.

Edmund said he could drive so fast because he followed the ley lines. Lucy thought that was just a load of tosh. The bobbies who flagged Edmund down for public endangerment didn't believe his excuse, either.

Tonight, there were no civilians about for Edmund to terrify as he careened through Londontown byways. The few people on the streets were security, members of the Were Ministry, and Mages securing Londontown for the full moon. And the Pevensie air bike was registered to be on the roads at night, so no one bothered them at all. Swathed in scarves and goggles, with their dusters billowing behind them, Lucy thought they surely looked very mysterious and important, and certainly on official Were business for the Crown.

Of course, if anyone had looked more closely, they would have realized it wasn't Wolfsbane and Bow-arm on a pre-full moon patrol. The driver was far too reckless and there were, in fact, two people packed into the sidecar. She and Caspian were crammed – elbows and knees jutting every which way, their hair whipping about and tangling in their goggles.

"Thank you," Caspian whispered as they huddled together. He shifted, letting her lean against him, her back to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her gloved hands. It would make it all much harder later but it was glorious now.

Caspian was thrilled. "We have nothing like this in Narnia," he sang into her ear as Londontown whistled by. Lucy didn't intend to nestle so closely. Truly, it was simply that wasn't anywhere else to put her body except snugly against his. Mostly.

Tumnus's shop was in a posh part of town in Mayfair near the Royal Society. Edmund had to magick the air bike as there wasn't any convenient rubbish bin or dark alley to conceal it.

"I hope we can find it after," Caspian whispered.

Edmund didn't need light to magick the door to the shop; she and Caspian just had to stand to the side, silently, and let Edmund do his work. Lucy's heart beat a little faster when Caspian stood so close their gloved fingers brushed one another. They both smelled of curry and a long day in the city.

There was something wrong, however. Typically, Edmund was able to pry open the enchantments keeping a door shut within moments. And standing in the dark, outside an important, expensive shop, in an exclusive part of Londontown meant they had very little time before someone appeared and demanded to know their business, which wasn't easily explainable.

"Damn it," Edmund muttered, letting his hands fall to his sides with a soft _thwap_. "He's had an advanced ward put on the door." With a disgusted grumble, Edmund added, "It's Merlin's work, _of course._"

The self-styled Merlin was a very clever, elderly Mage. She was also a pompous ass.

"Can you open it?"

Edmund passed his hands over the knob and shook his head. "Eventually, yes. It's not complex at all, just time-consuming, layers and layers of spells and wards, which is undoubtedly the point of it. A Were wouldn't have the patience; a Mage wouldn't have the time. Any thief is badly exposed here."

"How long?" Caspian whispered.

"An hour, perhaps two, if I'm not disturbed."

The odds of them being able to stand on a dark street the night before a full moon for two hours to break into the best apothecary in Londontown were non-existent. A bobby, private security, a member of the Ministry, or even a Were-hunter would be patrolling for just this sort of illicit activity.

Unless…

Lucy turned the knob and remembered the lock from when she entered and left the store earlier in the day. "I have an idea. Edmund, do you have your train pass?"

"My what?"

"Train pass. Your fare card. Oh bother, I surely have mine."

She was bumbling for her wallet when Edmund's card appeared between his fingers. "Here."

"I hope you don't have too many trips left on it."

Fare cards were sturdy, stiff, heavy paper with a resin coating so they would last longer with repeated uses. The steam trains and public air ships all accepted them instead of coins.

Caspian peered at the card in her hand. "Is that…"

"Yes, Sir Peter Wolfsbane is on both the crown coin and His Majesty's train fare card," Edmund said. "What are you doing, Lu?"

"Well, he's sealed the shop against break-ins by magick, but not taken many precautions for traditional thieving. The lock itself is fairly simple, I think. He has a bell on the door and there will be an alarm. Can you make sure everything is silenced?"

Edmund muttered a few words and Lucy felt the hair rise on her arms.

She grasped the fare card by the edge and wedged and shoved it between the door and the frame, then slid the card down until it connected with the locking mechanism.

"Where did you learn this?" Edmund asked.

"Medical school. The College was always trying to lock up the best liquor."

Gritting her teeth, she pushed and pulled at the card, hoping it wouldn't tear or get stuck in the door frame. "In school we used thin sheets of tempered metal to do this. I was very good at it." She finally got the angle she needed and give it another hard thrust. A very loud _click_ resounded.

"Well done!" Caspian softly crowed.

Edmund took back his shredded card. "You are very talented, my dear sister."

Lucy pushed the door and it slowly opened. "Remember to muffle any noise."

The three of them crowded in and Edmund shut the door.

"I'll just get…"

The sound of a pair of hands clapping was terrifying. Caspian gasped and Edmund swore.

_Thrice Damned._

A single light blossoming from a lantern revealed Tumnus, sitting in the exact same place as earlier in the day, behind the counter, blocking the way to the aconite behind him.

"Good evening, Doctor Pevensie. I was curious if you would make it inside, recalling your own skills in college. I was most amused to hear your brother concede failure."

"You rotten …"

Lucy elbowed Edmund. "Quiet!" She hoped Caspian would follow and remain silent, but even that was futile as Tumnus gave him a once over, "And I imagine your third is the person who emerged from Highgate Pond this morning. You could never turn down a mercy case or sob story."

"That was why I became a doctor, Tumnus." _As you very well know.._

In the pool of light the lantern cast upon the counter, Lucy saw Tumnus push a little envelope towards her. "This is what you want, isn't it? Aconite?"

"It is." She wanted to ask how he knew, but it was in his nature to rattle on and he did not disappoint.

"Your brother is the better liar. You couldn't stop staring at it this afternoon and really, Doctor, it strained my credulity that you would consider mandrake before moonstone."

"What do you want from us this time, Tumnus?" Edmund growled.

Lucy motioned with her hand for silence. Edmund would just make this worse.

"Doctor, this morning, it would have only cost you five pounds. Now, because you have inconvenienced me and made me stay up too late waiting for you, it will be twenty. Because your brother spoke, he must also magick my locks against the mechanism you used to breach my security."

"Or?"

"We already know the answer to that, Doctor Pevensie. We know what Wolfsbane and Bow-arm would make of this. Betrayal was the word, I believe."

Lucy stepped forward and took the envelope. "Can I trust you with this, Mr. Tumnus? I would like to, as I once did."

"Of course, Lucy."

Was there pain in his tone? Or just greed and opportunism? At one time, she thought she could tell. From her wallet, she withdrew a 5-pound note and the crowns she still had and slid them across the counter. _I am no longer the medical student who admired you so much she thought it was love._

"I will come by after the moon to buy more ingredients and you may overcharge me then." Lucy let a long pause settle. "As you did earlier today."

He had the courtesy to not laugh. "Good evening, Doctor." He glanced at Caspian, both interested and dismissive. "I hope your illegal cure does not kill your patient and that you do not have to answer to the Crown for his murder."

They hurried out.

"Lu, I'm so sorry. I take no pleasure in …"

_Edmund was right. He'd seen it all along._

"Please, Edmund, not now."

"Doctor…"

"I said _not now_." She angrily rubbed her face and saw tears marring her leather gloves. "Let's just go home."

* * *

"I don't want to talk about it, Edmund."

Lucy stripped off her goggles and gloves, and just let them fall to the garage floor. "I've got to get started on the cure." The aconite felt like lead in her pocket. "You both…" The words were hard, even though they shouldn't be. This was totally irrational, pointless besides, and a distraction she couldn't afford. Dead or gone. Those were the only outcomes. 

"You both stay here, or sneak Caspian into your bedroom, or hide him in mine. Whatever. I don't care."

That was a lie but then Tumnus said she was a bad liar, so Edmund and Caspian surely knew. _Needs must._

"Doctor…"

She didn't want to hear from Caspian but being impolite wasn't fair to him.

"Yes?"

"I seem to always be apologizing, for the inconvenience, for the risk, and now for the pain you have incurred on my behalf. For all these and more, thank you."

Handsome is as handsome does. He spoke as beautifully as he looked and Lucy found herself softening, _again._

"You are welcome, Caspian. But I'd best get to it or this is all for naught."

Lucy pivoted on her toes, her duster swinging about. She hoped to make a dramatic, flouncing exit to the tunnel back to her lab but her coat fouled on Edmund who stepped in her way.

She tried to pull back, away, dodge around. "I…"

"I know, Lucy. I understand." He threw his arms around her, hugging her tightly and though tears again pricked her eyes, the sullen lump in her gut eased. "Go. Do what you must, what you do best. Come back before dusk."

It was a relief to be alone, in her lab, with her potions, ingredients, Bunsen burners, balance, vials and pipettes. Usually, the scrying glass kept up a running commentary of burbles, but she was quiet. _Probably pining for Susan, the little tart._

Prepping the ingredients occupied her from sunrise to mid-morning, which she only noticed because she could see the sunlight peeking through the heavily barred windows and metal shutters of the lab.

Measure the aconite – a grain too little, and it would not work; a grain too much would kill Caspian.

Scrape the white down from the dittany leaves, use pestle to crush the leaves in the mortar to release the oils, remove the membranes with tweezers, one by one under her scope, filter the pulp, dissolve it in the solvent, weigh, weigh again.

Peel the valerian root, chop the valerian root, dry the valerian root in her kiln. Once dry, she would have to pound it to fine powder.

Grind the moonstone, try to not sneeze.

Measure out the grams of argentum -- as essential as the aconite, as lethal to a Were as aconite was to a human. The balance was always trying to kill one without killing the other.

While the valerian root was drying out, and with the lab smelling like day-old curry, Lucy returned the tins to the house, begged Cook for a sandwich and tea, thought about a nap, and opted for more tea. Realizing that it wasn't just the lab that smelled of curry (and dirt, burner fuel, sweat, and dumplings), she also changed into clean clothes.

Peter and Susan, Cook reported, had been gone since dawn and wouldn't be back until the sun rose tomorrow morning. Then, her work would begin, finding and trying to heal the newly bitten. Again. Every month, the same, since Christmas Eve, seven years ago when a portal opened in Piccadilly, and Were-wolves poured out of it. Their parents were bitten that first night and died six months later, executed by the Crown as incurable Weres.

Needs must. The sun had risen high and bright in the midday sky and was now sliding downward and would disappear on the western horizon. It was time to finish this.

The valerian root had dried, so she ground it into a fine powder, sifted it, ground it again, and then weighed it.

"Edmund?" This time, he responded on the Farnsworth immediately.

"He's ready whenever you are," Edmund replied to her unasked question. From the background noise, he was in a public place, probably setting up more wards, and so was also being vague.

"Thank you. I will see you in the morning. May the King protect you."

"Better to rely on our family for protection. I've erected wards all around the garage; only you can get in or out. Anyone – _anything_ \- else will get walloped unconscious for two days. Good luck."

The brewing process, she knew by heart but consulted her published monograph anyway, adding each ingredient to the dittany solution, heating it until it dissolved, stirring counter-clockwise, always counter-clockwise. The aconite came last, added a grain at a time, waiting 30 seconds, and then adding another grain until the solution turned from greenish sludge to silvery opalescence. Sometimes it was as few as four grains, or as many as seven. More than seven and there was no point for the solution was too toxic and would kill a human before the Were could die. Sometimes, despite her best efforts, the solution never turned – she didn't know why.

At five grains, the solution turned to silver. Lucy burst out, "Thank you!" to the gods and the scrying glass. She carefully poured the solution into the waiting vials, already chilled, and stoppered them. It was time.

Edmund had magicked the complex Were holding pen in the garage. It consisted of a steel bar cage within a larger containment of silver bars, spikes, and netting. The steel cage was meant to contain a Were for the night but if they broke through, they would kill themselves trying to escape the silver trap.

Caspian was sitting on the floor of the cage reading a book. He climbed to his feet as she entered the garage. Lucy felt the tingly resistance of the ward. Edmund was not taking any chances. She could usually pass through a ward without even noticing it.

"_The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_?"

"Edmund suggested it as an example of one of the greatest works of your culture." Caspian paused. "Though, in retrospect, it was perhaps not the best choice."

"I prefer Jane Austen myself." She handed him the first vial through the bars. "Start with this one."

He reached for the potion, but grazed the silver bars and jerked back, stung. "It seems…"

"Yes, it has worsened even over the last day. We've started none too soon."

She reached through both layers of barred protection and handed the vial to him.

"How many do I take?"

"Regrettably, as many as you can until you fear you will be ill. The more, the better. Did Edmund explain what you can expect?"

_Was that a faint blush? _

"Yes. My apologies in advance." He downed the first vial with nary a grimace.

"Everyone reacts differently, Caspian. This is painful, physically and psychologically. If the Cure works, it is worth whatever momentary embarrassment, which you will not remember and which I will make a point of forgetting."

Truly, Lucy did not remember what her patients ranted. She did remember every agonizing scream and furious howl, and each gurgle of bloody, excruciating death when the Cure couldn't save but killed instead.

She handed him the next vial. And five more.

Caspian was starting to look a little green, which was good. "Deep breaths. One more? Hold your nose and the smell might not bother you as much."

"What happens if I get sick?"

"I'm afraid we do this all over again. It's bitter tasting, I know. Nothing for it."

He made another, adorable pouting face, but took the vial through the cage; his fingers brushing hers. Warm. Maybe not too warm. Maybe this would work. Maybe she wouldn't kill him.

"I don't suppose we could add milk and sugar?"

"Unfortunately, no. Unless you are fond of explosions." She omitted that, given the amount he had already consumed, it would be an internal explosion and his innards would be splattered all over the cage.

He raised the potion to his full lips, gagged a little, but managed to push through it and swallow the last. His pupils were already dilating and his breathing had become more labored. Sweat was beginning to bead on his brow and neck. She took the last vial from him and withdrew it through the bars.

"Well done, Caspian. Now, why don't you hand me that book?" Anything in the cage would be torn apart.

He proffered the book but then eagerly sought her hand, trying to lace her fingers in his own and pull her arm through the bars. His palms were warm and sweaty. He stared at her, earnestly, intently, and tried to raise her hand to his lips. "Lucy, I… You should…"

Lucy quickly pulled her hand back and withdrew, well out of reach. She clutched the book across her front. She would not risk touching him again until he was cured, or dead. "It's the potion, Caspian. This feeling of longing? It's one of the side effects. It's not real."

"But from the moment we met, I…"

"No. Truly, it's nothing but the Cure. It's the Were in you, trying to escape the poison. It's going to hurt and its going to make you feel things that belong to the Were, not you."

Not wholly true, but it didn't matter. He would die or he would leave.

His face contorted in an angry snarl. Usually, her patients would hurl epithets. Caspian spun about and retreated to the far side of the cage, throwing himself at the bars, then yelping as he touched the silver.

Lucy backed further away, set the book down, and wrapped herself in the cloak he'd worn barely a day ago in the sidecar. It still had a lovely smell of water and grass that was nothing like the gardens and parks of Londontown.

Caspian slapped his hands against the metal bars and the cage rattled. It would hold, though. Edmund knew how to build them; no one had ever escaped. Several of their patients had died in them.

"What did you mean about Shakespeare not being a good choice?"

He shrugged, looking petulant, and began pacing, flicking away froth and spittle from his mouth. 

"I'd thought the first one, of the two lovers who kill themselves, was awful."

"Romeo and Juliet was one of his first plays, and very much a tragedy."

"They loved each other. Why couldn't they be together?" Caspian angrily dashed tears from his eyes and stalked away to the far corner of the cage.

Settling in the overstuffed armchair Edmund had magicked for her felt so odd. You had the sense of it not being altogether _there_, as if you were trying to sit down only to have the chair pulled away from you. She pulled the cloak more tightly around her. It was real; it smelled real. The chair had no smell at all.

"He killed my father."

Lucy looked up. Caspian had already torn at his shirt and his hands, looking more like claws, gripped the bars. When he spoke, his words were slurred and slathering, for his teeth had elongated and sharpened. He was turning, but not completely, for as the Were emerged under the rising full moon, the potion killed it, agonizing piece by piece. It was like dying by gnawing off your digits and limbs, one by one.

"Who did?"

"Like in the play, Hamlet. My uncle killed my father. Didn't marry my mother though, the whore."

She wasn't sure if he was referring to his own mother or Gertrude in the play.

"Killed all my father's men, sent them away, they never came back."

Caspian had said nothing about why he had been exiled and targeted. Or anything about his uncle except that he had usurped Caspian's own crown and tried to murder him. "I'm so sorry, Caspian. What an awful thing for you."

"Dead. Dead. Dead" Caspian howled. "He killed them! He killed them all! I'll murder him! Cut his head off like I did that Were. I'll drink his blood! Shred his sneering wife! Throw their son off the tower and eat him!"

Caspian's claws clutched and scratched the bars. He shook the cage, snarling in rage, chanting "Kill, kill, kill."

Lucy curled into the chair and burrowed more deeply into the robe, inhaling the woodsy, clean scent. She wrapped her arms around her head and began humming and rocking to drown out the din. The ranting went on. His howls mingled with the shrieks and screams rising outside.

Weres owned Londontown tonight, galloping down the roads and across the parks and greens, biting or killing, senseless to the human beings they had been only hours before. In her mind's eye, she saw Wolfsbane, savagely blinded in one eye, deadly and scarred, raising Rhindon, dripping in blood and silver, and slicing down, to kill, and to save. Bow-Arm was beside him, unerringly aiming and shooting at the dark shadows that screeched and then were silenced when her poisoned arrows found a home. She never missed.

His howls became sobs. "Dead, dead, dead… Oh Aslan, why."

She could offer no comfort, no succor. To approach him now, in the agonizing throes of an aborted transformation, was to be bitten or killed herself. If she could save Caspian, she had already done so and the Were within him was dying. If she had killed both man and Were, there was nothing she could do but wait until both died, in poisoned agony or tearing himself to savage pieces.

"Help me, please. Lucy, please, help me. I'm dying. Make it stop." She heard him rattle the cage again and then throw himself on the floor. Then again, and again.

Lucy pulled the cloak over her head and crammed plugs in her ears. When humming couldn't drown out his ghastly pain, she began to sing the lullaby her mother had sung.

_Though I roam a minstrel lonely_  
_All through the night_  
_ My true harp shall praise sing only_  
_ All through the night_  
_ Love's young dream, alas, is over_  
_ Yet my strains of love shall hover_  
_ Near the presence of my lover_  
_ All through the night_

_Hark, a solemn bell is ringing_  
_Clear through the night_  
_ Thou, my love, art heavenward winging_  
_ Home through the night_  
_ Earthly dust from off thee shaken_  
_ Soul immortal shalt thou awaken_  
_ With thy last dim journey taken_  
_ Home through the night_

* * *

"Lucy?"

Her name. Someone was calling.

"Yes?! I'm here!"

She had to dig out from under the cloak and remove the ear plugs. She looked around. "Caspian?!"

Lucy slid out of the armchair and stumbled to the cage. "Caspian? Can you hear me?"

He was lying in a bloody, ragged heap on the cage floor but was in human form and was breathing. She could see his chest rising and falling.

A long, painful groan. "Doctor?" Caspian rolled over and sat up. His eyes widened, suddenly fearful and he rocked back.

"What? What is it?"

"Lucy! We're here! Can you lower the ward?"

She whipped her head around. Edmund was standing in the passage from the lab.

_And Peter and Susan were with him. _

She turned slowly to face them, putting herself between the Were-Hunters and Caspian. "I don't know, Edmund. Should I? Are either of you going to kill him?"

"If he's not a Were, then of course not," Susan replied.

Peter nudged Susan. "And even if he is, we'll not do it without discussion. We're not murderers, Lucy."

She hurried over to the ward's invisible barrier and put her hand out. The tingling feel was still very strong – Edmund had taken no chances.

"Drop."

There was a little flare of pain and then cool air rushed into the garage. Susan was the first across the threshold and swept her into a tight hug. "Oh, Lucy, please don't ever do this again!"

"What happened? How did you find out?"

Edmund shook his head. "It wasn't me. They both pounced on me this morning before I'd even had a cup of coffee and dragged me down here, with me complaining the whole time I had no idea what they were talking about."

"Oh, Lucy, how do you think we learned of it?" Susan hugged her again.

"The scrying glass wouldn't leave off," Peter said, sounding and looking very irritated. But he added his own, warm embrace and kissed the top of her head.

"That fickle little…"

"Shhh!" Edmund scolded. "Your threats about pouring burnt sludge in her are probably why she ratted us out to Peter and Su."

Susan sounded a disapproving tut. "Tumnus also tried to extort us for another 20 pounds, which was _so_ tiresome."

"But…"

"Oh we just sent him packing," Peter said. "Told him that he should mind his own business, and stay out of ours, and if he crossed us again, he'd be explaining to the Crown Prosecutor just where he was getting all those specialized ingredients he's so fond of."

"Attempted blackmail of a Were-Hunter is illegal, too," Susan added.

"But…"

Susan patted her cheek. "Lucy, dear, do close your mouth. We've too much to do to waste time standing about gaping like carp in a pond."

Peter took the opportunity to stalk over to the cage. Caspian had gained his feet. He was a ragged, bloody, barely clothed mess. He looked very regal. And appealing. And wholly human.

"And you, sir, are?"

"Prince Caspian, House of Telmar, rightful heir to the throne of Narnia."

"And no longer a Were, thanks to my sister's cure?"

Peter glanced at her but they could all see and feel that the Were in him was dead. "In my judgement, the Cure was successful." Lucy joined her brother at the cage. "Caspian, could you please grab the silver bars for me?"

He did so, gingerly at first. The obvious delight on his face was all the proof she needed. "It does not hurt at all!"

Edmund waved his hands and murmured something. The cages fell away with a clatter and winked out.

Caspian stepped forward eagerly and took her hands in his. "Doctor, thank you so much. I am forever in your service." He nodded to Edmund. "And you, Mage. Thank you both."

He obviously didn't have much modesty. He was practically bare and seemed completely unconcerned with it. Not that Lucy minded. She was a physician, after all.

Edmund jerked his head in the direction of the garage's water closet. "Your clothes are in there. Get yourself ready. It's time to send you home."

_Regrettable, but necessary._

"Yes, about that. Caspian, first, a question, if you would," Peter injected. For a dread moment, Lucy was worried her brother would draw his sword but Peter was thoughtful, not fierce. "Edmund told us a little, but could you please explain more of how you came to be bitten?"

"My uncle inserted a Were into my camp. She sought me out and bit me. I killed her."

"How?"

"With my sword and…"

"No, Peter means, how did she come to Narnia?" Susan asked, coming to stand next to Peter. This all suddenly felt like Were Ministry business. Susan and Peter were acting very official, as if in their capacity as licensed Hunters. "Do you know?"

Caspian shook his head. "I do not. Some dark art, I suppose, though such magick is very rare in Narnia."

"And this is the first Were you know of in Narnia?"

"It is, Sir Peter. Doctor Cornelius found no records. He did say he thought that both the source and the cure were to be found here."

"And the cure you have found but what of this source?" Peter pressed. "Unanswered is how a Were came to Narnia and into the service of your uncle."

_Oh. _Edmund sucked in a startled breath, neatly mirroring her own surprise._  
_

Caspian's face turned severe and frowning. "I do not know."

Peter nodded. "Just so."

"I think some _pointed_ questions to your uncle are called for," Susan said grimly. "He may have the power to bring Weres in, or is using or being used by someone who does."

Lucy glanced at Edmund and could tell that he was as annoyed as she was. They should have thought of this earlier.

"I must return to Narnia immediately," Caspian said. He had been clinging to her, as reluctant to let go as she was. But now Caspian released her hands as if he were still a Were and she wearing silver. He dashed away, toward the water closet where Edmund had stowed his belongings. Lucy felt, again, the odd lump in her throat.

She and Edmund spoke over each other. "We should…" "He can't…"

"Of course we need to investigate," Susan put in, cutting them off. "The only real question is who can be spared here to go back with him."

"None of us can be spared, but for some it is more urgent." Peter said. "Lucy, I'm regret to say there was already a line outside your doctor's office."

It was unthinkable to leave in the days after a full moon. She should already be out treating the bitten.

"Edmund should go, at least," Lucy said, resolutely not choking on the regret. "There is surely some foul magick at the root of this."

Edmund put a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She patted his hand. "My loss, your gain, brother."

"I don't think so, Lu."

_He knew. Of course he knew._

"I should like to meet this nefarious uncle and introduce him to my arrows." Susan sounded chillingly hard.

And that was that. Caspian returned, wearing again his lovely Narnian blues and greens. Even Peter was a little agog.

"You're not rid of us yet, Caspian." Edmund clapped him on the shoulder. "Su and I are going back with you."

"Thank you, my friends. I had hoped, but dared not to ask. I fear this is beyond our ken."

Peter graciously shook his hand, though Caspian did look a little askance at the Were-pelt her brother wore.

Then he took both her hands in his, again, and for the last time. "No silver rings this time, Doctor Pevensie."

Lucy slipped one hand from his and drew one of her rings from her pocket. "Would you take this one? So you will always know what you no longer are?"

_And remember the one who saved you. _

"I would be honoured." 

She felt ridiculously pleased when he slipped it on his little finger. 

_Foolishness._

"I would go, too, but…"

"People here need you, Lucy."

"They do. Good-bye, Caspian."

Lucy's breath hitched as Caspian leaned forward and gently kissed her forehead. "Farewell."

Caspian released her and took Edmund's hand instead. Susan hefted her quiver over her mechanical arm and Edmund clasped her fleshed hand.

"Good hunting," Peter said, and saluted them, fist over his chest.

Susan gave him a curt nod. "May the King protect you both."

"We'll be back before you know it," Edmund said. He was excited, Lucy could see. She would be, too.

Caspian reached into his pocket; the yellow ring would there.

And they were gone.

Lucy angrily scrubbed the tears away. Peter put his arm around her. "Are you alright, Lu?"

"No. But it doesn't matter."

"No," Peter agreed. "It doesn't."

She shrugged out from her under her arm. "I need to get back to work."

Needs must. There were people to save.

* * *

The lullaby Lucy sings is excerpted from All Through The Night, a lullaby of Welsh origin written by Edward Jones around 1784.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [King in Wolf's Clothing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21729334) by [Starbrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starbrow/pseuds/Starbrow)


End file.
